Kiini Salaam - Ancient, Ancient

the hands dance over me, floating in unison. pull translucent tubes from filthy folds of clothing. i don’t exist. they see only the metal on my mouth. not a person, i am just a stretch of earth. a patch of living material, a vessel that spouts something they need. metal legs, stilled. hands attach tubes to metal lumps. don’t close my eyes. watch. they suckle the tubes, suck my saliva. breath, shallow; body, lifeless. i don’t close my eyes.

my saliva rises through the tubes, flows into mouths of my brutalizers. cheeks shudder, they clench their mouths closed. my saliva erupts, sparking a riot in their mouths. eyes roll back. they slump, slack, onto the sidewalk. lay, close as lovers, next to my body—this body, the body they have claimed. a heavy limb falls across my lower legs. finally, i try. strain to lift my arms. can’t. try to shake the metal spiders from my mouth. can’t. no strength. not even to drag myself away. exhaustion engulfs me, wolfs down my consciousness. tumble into a deep dark sleep.

shivering.

something in hands. hold tight. bundle against chest.

“Equi!”

my name. blank. in my mind is blank. know “Equi.” my name. up. up i see dark, gray sky. something grab my shoulder. shake me. flinch. shaking stops.

“Equi.” voice say my name. gentle voice. scared voice.

“Are you sure she will be safe with you?”

clipped tones. snap head left. see man, see man. down. look down. legs standing, not sitting. my legs standing too. man has brown shoes. i have slippers. shoes from Under. look up at man. don’t see eyes. i look where he looks. steps. hard stone steps. tall gray steps. steps.

“I have to get back. Are you quite sure?”

“I’m sure.”

voice. i know voice. man squeezes arm. looks sad in eyes. runs away. runs up steps.

“Equi.”

look down. woman. small woman, strong woman. dark eyes. wet eyes.

“Equi,” says soft, sad voice. touches my face.

throat hurts. brain hurts.

“ma…” whisper. sound! i talk.

“mama.” i talk again. mama nods. smiles. my voice ugly.

wetness grows in her eyes. “I couldn’t get to you,” she says, hand in my hair. “I couldn’t get to you before they did. I shouldn’t have let you come back.”

wetness grows in my eyes. water. water spill out. wet cheeks. voice louder. voice stronger. yelling now. howling. howl because the wiry brush. howl because the metal spiders. howl because they stole my spit. yell at steps. yell at man. yell all the way up to NewsNet.

mama hand moving in my hair. sad. scared. looks like she wants to “shhhhh” me, but scared. scared to break me more. no more breaking. mama hands pull my bundle, i don’t let go. mama hands wrap around me. my arms lock across chest, my yells shoot up to sky.

“Equi,” says, soft. mama hands pull me, soft. down. down the stairs to flat wide ground. “Equi, we must go,” says a little more strong. mama hands slip around my arm. mama hands pull me.

“Give me that.” grabs my bundle.

grunt. grab bundle back. no more taking. no more taking hands. look down in my arms. bundle: dirty cloths; my clothes, dirty with blood and something glittery. mama pulls clothes. catch the small flat thing that falls. box. shiny box. fancy green letters. hold box to face. read, “Your Bio-Anger.” more letters. serious black letters, say, “Thank you for sharing your story.”

“mama.”

we stop. mama hugs me again. now i hug mama too, not just hug my chest. lean cheek on top of mama’s head.

“Just breathe,” says. “Can’t do nothing with ugly, but breathe it out. Breathe.”

take big deep breaths. lungs hurt. let pain out with screechy animal sounds. deep breaths. hurt wants to take me back to that room. i don’t want to go back. grip mama. i want to stay with mama. look around. look over mama’s shoulder. people. people rushing. people walking. people staring. people pretending not to stare. get nervous. i slip quiet. one second, quiet. two seconds, quiet. three seconds, quiet. mama grabs my arm.

“We got to get you away from here,” says.

rushes me past people. doesn’t look around. looks straight. drags me past huge buildings. drags me past hard buildings, brown buildings, gray buildings. finally looks around. turns.

“there?” i ask.

mama’s face breaks into a smile.

“You’re talking, Equi! You’re coming back.”

words coming back to me. memories too. memories of how it felt to see mama, hug mama, touch mama. laughter. one night of hugs and laughter. want nothing but hugs and laughter here on the Surface.

mama points to a narrow space between two gray buildings.

“There,” says.

mama walks to the space. i follow. she turns sideways and squeezes in between the two buildings.

look at the people. so much gray. people in gray clothes. no color. more color Under than here. Surface doesn’t make sense.

“Equi!”

mama tugs on my hand, then squeezes deeper into the space. waits for me to follow. i step between the buildings behind mama. space is tight and dark. litter crackles underfoot. reminds me of a tunnel leading to a sub-station: narrow and dark with no clue of what lies on the other side.

on the other side, i hear voices. i can’t see what’s in front of mama, but i hear voices. when we step out from between the buildings, the first thing i see are trees. first trees i’ve seen since i been back. i go over to touch one. mama doesn’t stop me. then i look around.

tied to the tree branches are ropes, ropes stringing dirty stretches of plastic overhead. down on the ground, i see as many tents as trees. more. more tents than trees. plastic, fabric, boards—ragtag shelters. noise. the air is full of noise. snaking noise. spiky noise. laughing noise. music noise.

“where are we?”

near the tents, smoke hovers over silver pots. i smell food.

“Last park in this quarter of the country.” mama sounds like just thinking about it makes her tired. “Hungry?” squeezes my hand.

my body feels many things. exhaustion. fear. anger. worry. pain. confusion. no hunger. i turn away from mama, lean my cheek on the tree. run my fingers along the bumpy bark. feel gashes and grooves in the bark. look closer. see words acid-etched on the bark. run my fingers over the words: names, dates, shapes. biggest words say: Squat Park.

“Squat Park.” a sad laugh dies in mama’s throat. “That’s what they call it now. We lived here. After you left. Land loss. Relocations. That seems like so long ago.” mama turns me to face her and takes my other hand. “I saved every bit you sent, Equi. That’s the only way we were able to get out. People like us…people like us…” mama’s head droops as if her thoughts are breaking her, snapping her spine so she can’t hold her head up anymore. “People like us are supposed to squat, we’re not supposed to live in a home.”

purse my lips, fix them to ask how long was she here and was it anything like it is now, was she safe. my eyes wander over the people. i freeze, squint my eyes. two huge men walking shoulder to shoulder. two huge men wearing loose black clothes. they push their way past people. i grab mama’s shoulders, squeeze, spin her so she can see them, point. they walk toward me. fingers shake, arm trembles, but i keep pointing. mama nods, then she turns to look at me. she is smiling. her smile drops when she sees me: shaking my head, trembling. backing away. looking around for an escape.

mama glances back at the two men. they are moving slowly now, confusion covers their faces. grab mama’s shoulders, turn her to face me. try my voice. try to speak to mama. but no words. i have no words. all i can bring out of my mouth is one long squeak.